A Sad Song With No Story Line
by BrandNewOrange
Summary: Smoking in the evening forest, Shikamaru reflects upon his past


With the creative block I've had on finally fading, I've pretty much been writing nothing but gratuitous fics about nothing in particular. This one is about Shikamaru, set when he has grown old, remembering the past. There's a bit of ShikaTema at the end, but not much. The title of the story comes from the song "Indoor Living" by Motion City Soundtrack. I hope you enjoy this

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or it's characters, I make no money from this fiction. **

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How many years had it been? How many years since the cigarette had touched to paper, and the hole filled in? Had anyone counted the years in which their will of fire was kindled, nurtured into life and blazing fiercely within them?

He could tell you how many years it had been since his was snuffed out. He could recount the days, hours and even the seconds if you cared to ask him.

There had been times before when the flames had dwindled, dampened by war. Asuma's death had been one of those times. Of course that had led him to this point, and the fire had blazed once more.

Sometimes, as he sat and smoked, Shikamaru wondered if the Akatsuki beneath the rubble was still alive. Was the silver haired rogue still an insane, blathering head, or nothing more than another rotten corpse, succumbing to mortality at last? He would of course, shake away these thoughts, and go back to watching the smoke curl again.

The brunette found the smoke odd. His mastery of shadows had not wavered with age and yet there was something about smoke that eluded him. Perhaps it was the way that it's shadow was never full. In the past he had boasted the skill that he could use even the tiniest of shadows with which to extend his own. But the smoke of his cigarettes was something just out of his reach.

The stick he was inhaling from reached its end. He stubbed it out beneath his well worn shoe and leant back against the tree. Even with the scent of tobacco fading from his nostrils he knew it would hang in the air a while longer. This would cause the deer to linger before they joined him.

He could still extract some comfort from his namesake. There were days he felt they were the only constant in his life, besides the shadows of course. Every journey he would make into the forest, he would be joined by the majestic creatures. They would remain with him, as if guarding, while he leant against a tree and watched clouds.

It had been a long time since he'd gazed at the sky in his old place. Once Chouji was gone, it didn't seem right to observe from the rooftop anymore. And so Shikamaru had found himself, out in his forest, staring to the skies.

The gradual change in lighting told him the sun would soon be setting. Sure the clearing was darkened anyway, but even still the shadows grew longer and deeper. A beam of light appeared to cut through one of the boughs overhead. As he watched the rays they began taking on a golden tone. It caused spots of brassy lights to dance across the forest floor as wind shook the trees.

He sighed. Another cigarette was in order. The deer could wait, right now he still wanted to be alone. He enjoyed the grinding friction of the lighter on his thumb as he touched it to the tip of the cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he held the small silvery object in his palm and turned it over a few times. That first drag was always a killer, he thought, exhaling the fumes heavily.

Shikamaru looked to the object in his hands. He'd always kept it filled. No matter how much effort it took, he never let the lighter empty. Its once chrome exterior had dulled over the years, it still held a scuff mark that had been there when it belonged to his sensei. Flicking it open and closed a few times he sighed irritably.

Since when did he become so nostalgic? Thinking about his past like that could be so troublesome. The man straightened from his spot against an old oak, and paced the ground around the clearing slowly. Age hadn't changed him all that much. When he thought about it, Shikamaru supposed he had always been a little more mature than the others in his class.

He took one last furious puff on his cigarette, before extinguishing it in the dirt. His incredible mind turned back to his classmates now. Naturally his team mates came first. Ino, who many thought of as another dumb blonde, was incredibly skilled with her jutsu. Then there was Chouji, his best friend, overlooked for his girth. It didn't matter to others that Chouji was strong, and in Shikamaru's opinion, a damn sight braver than most. Naturally, his mind began to stray back to Temari, and he felt the pain in his chest grow tighter. There was a gap in the canopy overhead, and he sank to his knees to observe the sky through it.

The sky was all violets and rust now. It reminded Shikamaru of one of Naruto's old outfits, as if it had been tie-dyed with various inky colours and sprayed liberally with glitter. And of course it was his favourite part of the day, here when the shadows would stretch their furthest, the fading light of the day darkening each umbra to thick black.

It was these moments when he didn't feel like the world was so troublesome anymore. He hadn't ever let anyone in on this secret. Well, Temari had found that out for herself, but he supposed, a woman like her, she would have done.

He wondered how many mornings the Suna woman had awoken to find him missing. How many times had it been before she took it upon herself to search out the laziest Konoha shinobi, only to find he wasn't as lazy as it appeared. He would be sat upon the roof of their home of course, eyes to the sky as the tangerine sun had blotted out the last of the night. Birds had begun their dawn chorus, and the twinkling pinpricks in the sky were fading and falling like grains of her brother's sand.

And rather than argue with him, she'd simply walk over softly, and seat herself next to him. His acknowledgement of this was little more than a slight shift in his sitting position as the blonde made herself comfortable on his shoulder. And when the sky was that brilliant cobalt, and no longer shifting hues of all colours, the pair would venture back inside. Shikamaru would often take a nap somewhere while Temari made breakfast. It was an unspoken agreement that neither of them voiced, and from that point on she would join him most mornings to watch the shadows dance across dawn.

All of those memories were so long ago now. When he was young, all the shadow user had wished for was to lead an average life and have an average family. His life had been far from it. This spot in the forest was a marker of how extraordinary his life had been.

And as he'd aged, he found himself alone. Family, friends and then his lover all fell at the wayside. He regretted not having been able to help them, to give them strategies that would ensure their lives were still being lived now. Death was part of being a Shinobi, Tsunade had chided him once, and didn't the Nara know that now.

As he lay there in his forest, completely alone, he realised he may just have gotten that wish after all.


End file.
